


still beating, still here

by ArgentLives



Series: Across Every Universe (You are Home) [6]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Hurt Barry, Hurt/Comfort, Serious Injuries, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:52:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4824416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentLives/pseuds/ArgentLives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iris really didn't expect her housewarming party to end with her best friend bleeding out on a bed that she hasn't even gotten the chance to sleep in yet, but she'll be damned if she's going to let him leave her like this.</p><p> </p><p>(or: Barry gets seriously injured, and Iris conquers her fears to stay right by his side and help him through it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	still beating, still here

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt someone sent me for a hurt/comfort fic of Iris seeing Barry get really hurt and stuff, and I love really hurting Barry because I'm terrible like that, so. Iris doesn't actually see Barry get hurt in this, just the aftermath, but it's not pretty. LOTS AND LOTS OF HURT/COMFORT AHOY! :D

_Knock._  Pause.  _Knock._ Pause. _Knock knock knock._

Iris rolled her eyes, setting her cup down behind her on the counter she’d been leaning against and excusing herself from the conversation she’d been having with Linda and Caitlin: weighing the pros and cons of having a place of her own. Not that it made any difference, of course, because she already did, and it was the reason that they, and all these people, were in her new home right now in the first place.

 _Housewarming party._  It had been Linda’s suggestion, and she’d decided to go with it, mostly because her friend had offered to help throw it and had looked so excited about it (honestly, Linda loved any excuse for a celebration), and considering she’d spent a solid three months crashing on her couch she figured she sort of owed her that much.

A solid three months, of course, that had led her to make the decision that she needed a place of her own to begin with. After Eddie’s death, she couldn’t go back to the apartment they’d shared—it felt too empty, too big, too wrong, to be there without him, and she knew that if she stayed she’d never be able to move on. 

And so she’d moved back into her dad’s house, and Barry had moved back into to his old apartment, insisting that he didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable now that she knew what she knew and everything was still out in the open between them, even though she’d tried to assure him that it was fine, that he didn’t have to leave. She just barely held back from telling him that there was a selfish little part of her that didn’t want him to leave, that wanted him to stay, to keep him close, because she didn’t want to lose anyone else she cared about, but she knew the space was just as much for him as it was for her.

And then she’d remembered Eddie, that faraway look in his eyes, the stillness of his chest, the blood—no matter how many times she washed her hands after that night she could still feel it clinging to her skin—and the guilt had threatened to swallow her whole. Guilt at wanting to be with Barry when Eddie was dead, even though she still missed Eddie, and thought about him at the most inconvenient times. Guilt at being scared of not waiting long enough to move on and then ending up waiting too long, and guilt at wanting a fresh start. Guilt that, despite everything, despite the fact that he’d moved on and she’d moved on too fast and then not fast enough, she was still very much in love with her best friend.

Anyway, even her back at her old home things had felt suffocating, like their was this heavy air always there, this constant reminder that things weren’t the same, that something fundamental had changed. Her dad had ultimately understood when she’d taken Linda up on her offer to stay at her place for a while, until she figured things out. Hence the couch-crashing, and, three months later, this place. Herplace. And—right. The door.

“That’ll be Mr. Punctual,” she sighed, pushing all those thoughts away as the knocking resumed. This was supposed to be a fun night.  _Her_ night, and a staple that she was okay, that she was moving on–however true that actually was or wasn't. “Be right back, guys.”

She shook her head as she made her way to the door, exasperated because there was only one person who could possibly be showing up this late, but smiling fondly for much the same reason. And it wasn’t just that, either—it was the way he knocked, too, that let her know who to expect on her doorstep.

 _I-ris. O-pen up._  Like they were fifteen again and she was taking too long in the shower.

“About time,” she huffed, pulling the door open, and sure enough, it was him. “Caitlin and Cisco are already here. I mean, everyone’s already here. What–” she’d been about to ask what had taken him so long–after all, he’d promised that he’d take off tonight from his usual Flash business tonight just to make this–but then she looked at him for the first time, really looked at him, and felt her stomach drop.

“Oh my God, Barry, what happened?”

“Not—not here. Explain—later,” he managed to get out, shooting out a hand to grab the wall to steady himself only to pull it back with a cry of pain that sent shivers down Iris’s spine. She hazarded a glance at his shaking legs, the bent angles of his knees making her stomach turn. How he was even standing, putting any pressure on them when he clearly shouldn’t be, was beyond her. Well, putting pressure on one of them, that was—the other leg dragged behind him, limp and clearly broken, all his weight on the other, which was in comparatively better shape. His jeans were ripped and torn and seeping red in patches, and oh God, what was that–was that  _bone_?  _No, no, no, no, no–_

“Iris…please,” his voice was barely a whisper, laced with more pain then she’d ever heard in it before, and the sound of it forced her to get a hold of herself.

Her eyes snapped back up to meet his, her heart breaking at the utter torment in his expression, tight and drawn with discomfort. He needed her right now–she had to pull herself together, for his sake. She glanced behind her, and with a mental sigh of relief noted that her guests hadn’t noticed anything, milling about same as before, apparently oblivious to the fact that a very injured Barry Allen was bleeding out on her doorstep.

“Okay, okay—do you…do you think you can make it just a little bit further? I can help you walk, but…”

He squeezed his eyes shut with a grimace, but nodded in understanding. He was nearly a foot taller than her–she wouldn’t be able to support all his weight on her own.

“Alright, just—my room is close to the door. Right around the corner, really, we can go there, and I’ll do my best to shield you from view, and I’ll get Caitlin to check you out and–and it’ll be okay. It’s gonna be okay.” Over and over again she repeated those words, as though that might make it true, just as much to convince herself as it was to reassure him. She moved to his side, carefully maneuvering his arm over her shoulder and stumbling a bit before catching herself, supporting the bulk of his weight.

“I’m sorry, I—I’m sorry,” he bit out, a barely contained scream behind every word.

“Don’t apologize,” she huffed, gathering her bearings, hating the way her voice shook. She tried her best not to cry as she took in the gash in his side, the warmth seeping into her shirt as he pressed against her, wondering with steadily increasing panic just how much blood he was losing.

She tore her eyes away from the wound, taking in a shaky breath, needing to look somewhere, anywhere else. It wasn’t that she was squeamish, really—it was more of _who_ it was that made it so hard to stomach. And, yeah, okay—maybe she was a little squeamish after all, because those wounds looked bad and his skin looked like it was hanging off in places where it seemed like it had nearly been shredded right off, and she was trying really, really hard not to throw up. Finally, her gaze landed on Linda, who had ventured out of the kitchen and was striding towards her, no doubt having wondered why she hadn’t come back to rejoin their conversation.

“Iris, is everything okay?” Linda asked, eyebrows knitting together in concern as she made her way over to them. Her eyes widened as they fell upon Barry, taking in his battered appearance. “Jesus, what _happened_ —”

“Linda, I need you to distract these people,” Iris gave her a pleading look, thanking God, not for the first time, that she’d been in on the secret–all of the Flash and meta-human business–ever since Wally had come into the picture. Less questions, less excuses, especially at a time like this. “Actually, I need you to get them all out of here entirely. Can you do that?”

Linda, bless her soul, didn’t miss a beat. She just nodded, barely batting an eyelash, to show she understood.

“Of course. I’ll get Cisco, see if he can help. He might be able to cause a diversion and all, with—you know.”

“Get me Caitlin, too,” Iris panted, half dragging Barry along with her, trying to angle her body to hide as much of his as she could with all 5′ 4″ of her. She wondered briefly if he’d passed out, and half-hoped, for his sake, that he had. “Tell her I’m bringing Barry to that bedroom I showed you guys earlier. Quickly, please.”

Linda nodded again and then she was off, making a beeline straight for the kitchen, and Iris shuffled towards her room as fast as she could manage, steadfastly ignoring the couple of people who’d spotted her—two of her old colleagues from Jitters—that were calling her name. And then, finally, miraculously, she was in the bedroom, depositing Barry’s limp form on the bed as gently as possible, disentangling his arm from around her and careful not to jar his injuries. 

With shaking legs she strode over to the door, just preparing to shut it when she saw, with a flood of relief, Caitlin approaching. She had a steely, determined look in her eye that Iris had come to recognize as her ‘doctor-mode’, as Cisco had jokingly referred to it one day. There was nothing remotely funny about it now.

She spared Iris a terse nod before brushing swiftly past her into the room, her steps faltering for a moment, an unintentional lapse in her rigid composure, as she took in the sorry state Barry was in. 

“Do you know what happened?” she asked, and although her voice was deceptively steady and clipped, _calm_ even, Iris knew her well enough by now to detect the faint tremble hidden within it. Barry was her friend too, after all, not just any random patient.

“No,” Iris shook her head, pulling the door shut behind her and walking on shaky legs over to Caitlin, who was rooting determinedly through a rather large purse she’d brought in with her, her expression unreadable. “How are things out there? Did you talk to Linda? Cisco?”

“Linda just told me to meet you in here, said it was urgent, that Barry was pretty badly hurt. I think she might’ve left to find Wally after that, but Cisco was with me too, and last I checked, he’d managed to convince everyone that there’d been a small earthquake or something—made the whole kitchen shake. They’re all clearing out, anyway.”

“Good, that’s—wait, you keep medical supplies in there?” Iris blurted as she caught a glimpse of the contents of the kit Caitlin had just popped open, one that she’d pulled out of her purse.

“Yes, and with good reason, considering situations like these. I really should be doing this at S.T.A.R. Labs, there’s equipment I need there and he really should be in a medical setting for this but…to be honest, he’s not in good shape,”  _no fucking shit_ , Iris thought to herself, with a flash of anger at Caitlin that she immediately felt guilty about, “and the drive to the lab from here isn’t exactly quick—I think it’s best if I get him stabilized here first, and then we can take him.”

Her throat felt dry, watching Caitlin fish out the items she needed. She couldn’t even find her voice to form a proper response, or ask the only question that really mattered, the one she was desperate to know but terrified to bring up. Luckily, Caitlin answered it for her anyway, sparing her a quick glance as she pulled on a pair of latex gloves.

“He’ll be okay, Iris,” she assured her, although the look on her face, the tight line of her mouth, lips pursed and pulled down at the corners, the edge of unease in her eyes, were far from reassuring. “I just need to work quickly. Especially before things start healing the wrong way, or this is could get a whole lot uglier.”

Iris nodded numbly, watching as though stuck in some awful nightmare as Caitlin flitted around Barry, poking and prodding and assessing. Dread curdled in her stomach as she knelt by Barry’s side and realized with a start that he was  _looking right at her,_  staring at her through eyes clouded with pain. She had thought,  _she had hoped_ , that he had passed out, but here he was, more or less alert, and very much awake. He was going to feel  _every single thing_  Caitlin did, and she knew it, and she could tell from the way he was looking at her that he knew it, too. His eyes were wide and pleading, following her every move as she took his good hand—the other a mangled, bloody mess—in hers, silently intertwining their fingers to show she wasn’t going anywhere. 

And all the while, Barry lay tense, wincing and flinching as Caitlin examined the worst of his injuries, occasionally letting out a whimper, a shudder, a cry, a sharp intake of breath that made Iris’s heart ache. He kept his eyes fixed on her or otherwise squeezed shut, and she noted with a sinking sensation the silent tears that leaked from them. She  _hated_  seeing Barry cry. She hated seeing him in pain. More than anything, she hated not being able to do anything to stop it, just sitting here, completely useless, and watching idly while he went through agony. God,  _she hated_   _this_.

“Isn't—isn’t there anything you can give him for the pain? You have to have something in his purse, Caitlin, _please_ ,” she pleaded, desperate, as she watched Barry bite down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, no doubt holding back another scream.  _Please, please, please_ , she thought over and over again, squeezing Barry’s hand a little tighter, even though she already knew the answer.

“Iris, nothing works on him. His metabolism will burn right through it, you know that.”

She did, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept.

“Oh, fuck,” came a voice from behind her, and she whipped around to find Cisco standing there, wide-eyed and worried. She hadn’t even realized that he’d come into the room, hadn’t even registered the sound of the door being opened and shut. Caitlin beckoned him closer and to hand him something, listing off a lot of medical jargon in the process that Iris didn’t really recognize. It didn’t matter, really—she knew enough to gather that it wasn’t anything good.

 _Focus_ , she told herself.  _Pull yourself together—you need to be strong. Barry needs you_. Except no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the creeping feeling of hopelessness as she rubbed calming circles into Barry’s hand to ease its trembling, the motion mechanical and forced. Couldn’t quite help the sensation that this was all far too close and too real and too loud—a cry of pain, a tear stealing its way down Barry’s cheek, an order from Caitlin, a twitch in the fingers wrapped around hers, a stain of red, scissors cutting away fabric revealing the bloody mess of skin beneath it, bone poking through flesh, a scream, a scream, a scream. Flashes of images burning at the back of her mind, sounds thundering against her eardrums no matter how loud or how quiet. 

And yet, somehow, at the same time, she felt as though she was watching everything unfold before her from miles away, like half of her mind was rejecting that this was happening at all, like if maybe she closed her eyes and hoped hard enough she would open them and none of this would be real—

“Hey, Iris.” Cisco rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder, as the scene seemed to waver and wobble before her. She drew in a shaky breath, suddenly aware of the wetness on her cheeks, forcing herself back to the present. She hadn’t even realized she’d been crying, didn’t know when she’d started. “I know it looks bad, but Caitlin knows what she’s doing. He’ll be okay. Besides, he’s had worse.”

“He’s had  _worse_?” Iris’s voice cracked, shrill with disbelief. As if it didn’t hurt enough to see him in this much pain, this apparently wasn’t even the worst of it. God, they needed to have a talk about self-preservation, if he— _when_  he was all better.  _When, Iris_ , she berated herself, clinging to Caitlin and Cisco’s reassurances.  _You heard them, he’s going to be fine, even if it looks—no, don’t think about that. Postive thoughts. P-o-s-i-t-i-v-e._ Caitlin looked up from what she was doing to shoot Cisco a glare, and his eyes widened as he realized his mistake.

“Oh shit—that was really not helpful, not helpful at all, sorry—what I meant was that he’s  _recovered_ from worse. I mean, there was this one time, back when—never mind, actually. Also not helpful. But we’ve seen it, so, you know—he’ll definitely recover from this. Promise.”

“Okay,” she sucked in a deep breath, willing her fingers to stop trembling as she brushed them gently across Barry’s forehead with her free hand, pushing away the hair clinging to his skin from the sweat and exertion of simply being  _conscious_. With another steadying breath she steeled herself, swallowing past the lump in her throat. She needed to do  _something._  “Okay. I–I believe you. Now, what can I do to help?”

Caitlin didn’t let the surprise show on her face at the resolve in Iris’s voice, shaky but determined, she just continued to unravel a bandage and wrap it around a gash in Barry’s thigh, muttering something about needing stitches before pausing for a beat to address her.

“Just monitor his breathing for now, okay? Make sure he is, you know—”

“Breathing?”

“Well, yes.”

She nodded, methodically running her fingers through Barry’s hair and here and there muttering empty reassurances, all the while watching the labored rise and fall of his chest, her heart in her throat with the fear that at any moment, it would stop, and waiting, waiting, waiting…

“Iris? Iris, did you hear me?”

She blinked, tearing her gaze away from Barry’s chest— _still breathing, he’s still breathing, his heart is still beating, he’s fine,_ she told herself, half-worried that the second she looked away, he wouldn’t be anymore—and the rest of the world came crashing back into focus. 

“What?”

“I need to set the bone in his leg before it starts to heal. I’ll probably have to do the same with his wrist, too. The break in the radius in his right arm is a simple fracture, so that should be fine, but—I need you and Cisco to hold him down while I do this. He’s likely going to move involuntarily, and the more he moves the worse he’s going to make it.”

“I—okay. Okay, got it, just, where should—?”

“Hold his shoulder down,” Caitlin clarified, “And Cisco, you get the other side.”

“Got it.”

Iris squeezed her eyes shut as she held down Barry’s right shoulder, Cisco at his left, and counted down in her head.  _One, two—_ she peeked an eye open, and instantly regretted it, holding back a gag as she saw the mess of Barry’s leg, the bone clearly visible through a gash in his skin where it had poked its way through and— _SNAP._  

It took everything in her not to gag at the sound, as Barry jolted, his back arching and his eyes flying open in shock and pain, a scream tearing its way past his lips. His back hit the bed hard before Iris could react, before she could ease him back down, and the pressure against his injured body wrenched another cry of pain from him, this one cut off abruptly as he rolled, throwing up bile over the side of the bed.

“Shhh…shh, Barry, it’s okay,” she soothed, rubbing circles around his back as he coughed, and spluttered, and heaved again–this time coming up empty. She wondered idly when the last time he ate was. “It’s okay,” she repeated automatically as she helped him lay back down, wiping the tears off his cheeks with her thumb, even though it didn’t feel okay at all, because Barry was hurting, and hurting, and hurting, and  _nothing was okay about that_.

“It’s okay,” another snap as Caitlin set another bone, “It’s okay,” a cry as she tended to his mangled fingers, “It’s okay,” as she held a bloody, loose flap of skin down on his side and he groaned, trying to twist away from her grip, “It’s okay,” when he started to thrash and panic and cry so much that Cisco had to hold him down, “ _You’re okay._ ”

All the while, she kept her hand in his, even when Caitlin set the bones in his other wrist and his grip was bruising, even when she disinfected and stitched up the wound in his side and he squeezed it so tight she was sure her own fingers would snap under the pressure.

It was a grueling process, one that dragged on, and on, and on–although how much time actually passed, she couldn’t be sure. All she knew was that she needed Barry to be okay, that she couldn’t lose him, that she wanted this to be over, and that finally, thankfully, somewhere down the line, Barry had passed out from exhaustion. And yet, even unconscious, his face still looked contorted with pain.

After what felt like a lifetime—a lifetime Iris never, ever wanted to repeat—Caitlin took a step back, her voice relieved and weary. 

“Okay. Okay, I think it’s best to let him rest a bit, for now. I don’t want to wake him when he finally fell asleep, not after—you know. He’s stable, I took care of all the pressing stuff, anyway. There’s obviously a lot I still need to check out, but we can wait till he wakes up to take him to S.T.A.R. Labs, since I’ll need my equipment there. I’m done with the worst of it, but…it’s still not going to be pretty. Just…let him sleep, for now.“ 

Heaving a sigh, Caitlin wiped her sweaty forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a little smear of blood in its wake. She held her hands out in front of her, her frown turning into a grimace as she examined them and glanced down at her similarly blood-stained clothes. 

“Iris, I hope it’s not asking too much, but could I use your shower to wash up?”

“Of course, yeah. Anything you need. You can borrow some of my clothes when you’re done, too–just leave yours outside the bathroom, and I’ll throw them in the wash for you in the meantime.”

“Thank you.” Caitlin gave her a wan smile, before turning her attention back to Barry, wincing at the state of his clothing, not only soaked with blood but ripped and torn in the places where she had cut the fabric away to get to the injuries underneath. “Actually, do you have anything he could wear too? Something to give him to change into when he wakes up. I just—I think we should just throw these clothes out, honestly. I mean, obviously he won’t fit into your clothes, but maybe you have something…?” Caitlin asked doubtfully.

“Yeah, actually. I have some of his old sweats and stuff here,” Iris answered without thinking, earning her an understanding, if a little curious, smile from Caitlin.

“Oh, okay. Well—good. That’s good. I mean, it’s none of my business.” 

Iris frowned, about to ask what it was, exactly, that wasn’t her business, when Cisco gave her a meaningful look, waggling his eyebrows at her behind Caitlin’s back. Oh.  _Oh_. Suddenly it clicked, and she spluttered, backtracking as she realized what that must have sounded like. 

“No, not like that! I mean, I’ve had these since college, I–I always used to steal Barry’s clothes when I would visit him at school. I was into the whole ‘too-big sweatshirt’ and roomy sweatpants thing.”

“Alright,” Caitlin shrugged, and despite everything, Cisco had the gall to  _grin_  at her. “Well, either way. Like I said, not my business.”

“It’s  _not—_ whatever. Shower?” she reminded Caitlin, suddenly desperate to be left alone.

Caitlin nodded and retreated into the adjacent bathroom, and Cisco, seeming to get the hint, excused himself from the room as well, with the promise that he would call Joe and let him know to meet them at STAR Labs. Iris nodded at him in vague acknowledgment, only moving, albeit reluctantly, from Barry’s side once he had left the room.

She moved on shaky legs towards her drawer, absentmindedly picking out clothes for Caitlin and for herself—after all, she probably looked a frightening mess too—and then lingering on the clothes she’d found for Barry. Just a plain looking sweatshirt with the logo of Central City’s College for the Sciences on the front, a pair of sweatpants with much the same design on the pant leg, and a t-shirt he’d won at a science fair. 

He’d only had the chance, or so he claimed, to wear them once or twice before she’d borrowed (stolen, he insisted) them one weekend when she’d visited him at school. Still, there was something distinctly _Barry_ about them; which, if she was being honest, was probably part of the reason she’d liked them so much in the first place.

Hugging them close, she scooped up the clothes for Caitlin and laid them outside the bathroom door, too tired and too drained, hands still trembling and legs unsteady, to change her own clothes just yet. She made her way back to the bed where Barry lay, thankfully asleep, and yet…his expression was far from peaceful, his mouth still curled into a grimace, and she wondered just how vividly he could feel the pain in his sleep. She set the clothes down at the edge of the bed and moved to sit next to him, careful not to wake him.

With gentle fingers, she stroked his cheek, let her hand linger over his lips so that she could feel the gentle puffs of air to remind herself that he was breathing. Distantly, she registered the shower being turned on, the sound of running water. She had just resumed her steady motion of carding her fingers through his hair when he gave a start, and her hand stilled in its place as he woke up with a groan.

“Hey, Bar. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” he croaked, voice hoarse from screaming, or maybe from the crying. Most likely it was both.

She pushed his hair back and offered up a watery smile. “Yeah, I figured.”

He looked around, frowning, at the chaos that her room had become—a poor excuse for a make-shift emergency room. His forehead creased in concern as he took in the state of the sheets he was laying on, the trail of blood from the door that Iris had dragged him through.

“I bled all over your new carpet. And your bed,” he mumbled, still half-asleep, dazed with exhaustion and disoriented from the pain. “I’m sorry.”

She let out a little huff of disbelief. He’d just woken up from being in a world of pain, and he was worried about the state of her carpets. There was nothing funny about the situation, but even though her heart was still in her throat seeing him like this even after Caitlin had assured her he’d be fine, it still brought a disbelieving little smile to her lips. Only Barry.

“Shh, it’s okay, Bar. Don’t worry about it. Carpets and sheets are replaceable—you’re not, okay? So don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

“But I ruined your housewarming party.” Even only half-coherent, he sounded miserable. Hell, he looked miserable, eyes downcast, wearing a deep frown, and not just because he still looked more or less like roadkill: all beat up and broken, dried tear-tracks on his cheeks.

“It’s _fine_ , I can always have another one. I’m sure Linda would love the excuse to plan something else,” she waved it off, unconcerned, before giving his uninjured hand a light squeeze. She did her best to keep her tone from sounding accusatory when she finally asked the question that had been pressing on her mind from the moment he’d arrived on her doorstep, looking like death. “Speaking of tonight—what happened? How’d you get like this? I thought you said you were taking off Flash business, so you could be here on time.”

“I did…I mean, I  _was_ …it’s just–I was on my way over here, and I saw this car swerving all over the place, and it was about to hit a car in another lane and I saw what was happening too late but I still tried to stop it and—well, I pulled the driver out of the car but I was too late to stop the collision and hitting a moving car at super speed is unsurprisingly…not a good thing. But obviously I couldn’t go to the hospital, and I knew no one would be at S.T.A.R., and I was already on my way here so—” he broke off with a wince, riding another wave of pain, and his grip on Iris’s fingers tightened. “Okay, oww.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, waiting with him for it to pass, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding when he opened his eyes again. “We’re going to have to have a little talk about you and self-preservation soon, but for now, you need to rest. ‘Kay? Get some sleep, while you can.” She didn’t elaborate, didn’t have the heart to tell him that Caitlin still had a lot of work left to do—not just yet. Let him relax, for now. “Don’t worry about the party. All I care about is that you’re okay.”

A yawn, a stretch, and another grimace, and he nodded, conceding defeat. He let his eyes fall closed, following her orders. She sat in silence for a while, watching his chest rise and fall until his breathing evened out, until she was sure he’d dropped off to sleep, when she heard his voice, small and sleepy and still wrought with discomfort. 

“It helped, you know.“ 

She frowned, waving a hand in front of his face, his eyes still shut tight, and when he didn’t react she realized she’d been right—he _was_ asleep. Just…talking.

“What helped?” she asked, humoring him, thinking back to all the times she used to mess with him when they were kids, all the conversations they’d had with his eyes closed that he hadn’t remembered in the morning.

“Your voice…wi’ the pain…” he sighed sleepily, “…hearin’ your voice…that helped…”

She smiled sadly, and wasn’t surprised to feel herself getting choked up again. “Well, I—I’m glad I could help.”

“Iris… _Iris_ …”

“I’m right here, Barry.”

“Mhmm…yeah…'course…” and then, so quiet she almost missed it, “…love you…”

She froze, the words hitting her like a ton of bricks, and all the while he dozed on. It had been a while since he’d said it. After all, he’d just gotten out of a relationship, although she’d known that it had still stood just as true for him as it had for her.

_“It’s not that he didn’t love Patty,” Caitlin had said to her one night as they’d sipped wine together on her couch, contemplating life. “I think he did. It’s just that…he loved Patty like—well, kind of like how you loved Eddie. You know?” Caitlin bit her lip when Iris didn’t respond right away, looking sheepish. “Was that insensitive? That was insensitive, wasn’t it? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”_

_“No, no, I…I get it.”_

Because, yeah, she felt guilty acknowledging it, but she knew. Of course she did.

“Love you, too,” she whispered, resolving to say it again when he woke up, when he could hear her, when they could have a long overdue talk about what it meant. It had to be her imagination, but…he almost looked like he was smiling a bit, in his sleep, as she leaned down to place a gentle kiss on his forehead.

 _I do, okay? I love you, I really do. So don’t you ever leave me, Barry Allen,_  she thought, blinking away the tears in her eyes.  _Not you._

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on my [tumblr](http://bisexualiriswest.tumblr.com/), as most of these prompt fills are.
> 
> also: disclaimer that I didn't actually look up realistic injuries and how to treat them, so if this seems wildly medically inaccurate, it’s probably because it is.


End file.
